


Tumblr Mini-Fics #11: 2222 Fic Fest - The Johnlock Fics

by berlynn_wohl



Series: Tumblr Mini-Fics [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gunplay, Jealousy, M/M, Military Kink, Spanking, Tentacles, Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In April 2014, I celebrated 2222 Tumblr followers with my "2222 Fic Fest." Twenty-two followers requested a pairing and a 2-word phrase, and I wrote a fill for each that was 222 words long.</p><p>These are the resulting Johnlock fics. (One is an MCU crossover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. selfcest timetraveler

_[iwantthatcoat](http://iwantthatcoat.tumblr.com) asked for "selfcest timetraveler"_

 

Sherlock sat perfectly still on the sofa, for once a picture of patient serenity, whilst John fidgeted in his chair, wracking his brain. It didn’t bother Sherlock to have to wait a few moments; John was good at this game, he just needed time to think of the best scenarios. Also, Sherlock was fond of the way John’s brow crinkled when he was thinking really hard about something.

At last, John slapped his palms flat on his knees and said, “How about this one: you at age twenty-five, you at age thirty-five, and you at age forty-five.”

Sherlock thought on this for a moment, fingers steepled under his chin. This was probably the best one yet. John _was_ good. “Alright,” he replied briskly, “I’d shag me at thirty-five, marry me at forty-five, and throw me at twenty-five off a cliff.”

John’s expression indicated that he approved of this assessment. And so he stood up and walked over to the machine, which had displaced several boxes of books in one corner of the room. He carefully entered the relevant coordinates, which popped up in green on the LED display. He hit one last button, and the door slid open. There was just enough room for both of them to stand inside. With a ‘you first’ gesture, John said, “Well, let’s get started then.”

                                                                                                                        


	2. Edinburgh cadaver

_[dashcommaslash](http://dashcommaslash.tumblr.com) asked for "Edinburgh cadaver"_

 

Sherlock was oddly quiet through the first fifteen minutes of the film. Typically, he was calling out duplicitous characters and plot twists left and right within moments. John had long since decided that Friday nights were only for films he had already seen. Then it became like a game: John could time how long it would take Sherlock to realise who Keyser Soze was, or who had been dead all along.

When Sherlock finally spoke up, he gestured in the direction of Simon Pegg and Andy Serkis on the screen and said, “Having found themselves fallen on hard times, those two are going to begin clandestinely acquiring corpses, which they will sell to ‘medical professionals’ who are just as shady as they are. But they won’t be able to do this for very long before they are caught, and in the end a least one of them will be publicly executed.”

John had to laugh at this. “I would hardly credit you for deducing that much. This film is based on a well-known event in history. I’d expect you to have already known that, given your morbid interests.”

“I don’t mean Burke and Hare,” Sherlock replied. “I meant that those two actors are going to end up doing that when the jobs dry up and times get hard for them.”

“I—what?”


	3. tentacle porn/astrophysicist + alien

_[cousincecily](http://cousincecily.tumblr.com) asked for "tentacle porn." [zundaerazylym](http://zundaerazylym.tumblr.com) asked for "astrophysicist +alien." Here's a double-fill._

 

A blond man in a lab coat, below average in height by his species’ standards, entered Sherlock’s cell. He carried a black box in both hands, and a clipboard under one arm. He seemed to want to remain as far away as possible from Sherlock as he set the box on the floor. With the press of a button, the little box filled and illuminated the room with a spray of light, a holographic star chart representing several systems. These people wanted to know where Sherlock was from. Obviously.

The man said nothing. He assumed that Sherlock did not understand English, but he was intelligent enough to reckon that anyone this far from home would understand, without words, why such a vast map was being presented to them.

For the first time, Sherlock spoke. “Doctor John Watson…” he began.

John’s eyes widened. “How did you know my name?”

Sherlock pointed. “It’s right there on your badge.”

John looked down at his badge, with its diminutive print, and then back at Sherlock. He was estimating the distance between them, the strength of Sherlock’s eyesight if he could indeed read that text. He made a note on his chart. “Alright, since you speak English: could you please indicate your point of origin.”

Sherlock would do no such thing. He was here to collect data, not dispense it. A minor slip-up had landed him in this facility. But he hadn’t come all the way to this planet without doing a bit of research about its inhabitants. He could read John like a book, and the opportunity for escape which presented itself was…charming.

Sherlock moved forward as if to interact with the star map, but instead moved through it, approaching John. Now, by concentrating, he could let a bit of his glamour drop. Just enough to reveal, at the apex of his thighs, a cluster of sinuously writhing tentacles. With these he reached for John, encompassed him.

“Doctor Watson,” Sherlock breathed. “You know, I would do anything to get out of this cell and be allowed back to my transport.”

Powerful as they were, powerful enough to draw John nearer to him, Sherlock’s tentacles were also graceful, precise. They deftly drew down the zip of John’s khaki trousers, and slipped inside.

“ _Anything_. Won’t you help me find a way out of here, doctor?”

Nearly breathless with lust and panic, John whispered, “There are eight cameras on us, right now, that can see what you’re doing.”

Sherlock smiled at this. Because in the control room, the men monitoring Sherlock’s cell merely saw him obediently pointing out to Doctor Watson his planet’s star, where it was represented in the hologram.


	4. unsafe sex/jealous john

_[a-causidicus](http://a-causidicus.tumblr.com) asked for "unsafe sex." [reddecielo](http://reddecielo.tumblr.com) asked for "jealous john." Here's another double-fill._

 

 

The floor was murder on Sherlock’s knees, but John didn’t care, and for that matter neither did Sherlock.

“You know it upsets me when you behave that way around my old army mates.”

Sherlock was unable to articulate at the moment, but he knew John wanted a response, so he made an “ _Uh-huh_ ” sound in his throat.

“This is not a punishment,” John said. His boots were planted firmly on the floor; nothing Sherlock could do would provoke the slightest shiver or buckling of knees from him. “It’s simply a reminder that you belong to me, and that I consider it my job to see that all your needs are met. That job is mine alone and I take it very seriously. It’s not for any other man. Do you understand?”

“ _Uh-huh_.”

John tilted his hips forward, so the head of his cock touched the back of Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock gagged, but John did not relent. Sherlock’s eyes began to water.

“Is this a sufficient reminder to you, to not get flirty with my mates?”

Sherlock was not certain that he could give an answer without gagging. He tried to just twitch his head slightly, to indicate the affirmative. The tears were stinging his eyes, and he whined slightly.

“I can’t hear you,” John growled.

“ _Ahh hahh_.”

“Good. I wasn’t sure that that _would_ be sufficient, that’s why I brought this along as well.” John pressed the muzzle of his Browning more firmly against Sherlock’s temple. Sherlock could not resist the push; he was anchored by John’s cock filling his mouth and throat, and had nowhere to go. The gunmetal had long since warmed to match the temperature of his skin. Sherlock squirmed with the longing to feel the coldness of the steel again.

“I would have died in that godforsaken desert for any one of those men, but I will never share you with them.” John’s words made Sherlock’s cock leak, painfully trapped as it still was in his trousers. His knees were in agony and his mouth was uncomfortably crammed with cock, but he could go on like this forever if John ordered him to.

“Do you still feel the need to offer yourself up to any passing uniform in order to satisfy your desires?”

“ _Uh-uh_.” Sherlock wasn’t lying, in that moment. Right there and then, he did genuinely feel that John was all he needed. John with his hard cock, red and wet at the tip, thrusting out of his unbuttoned but otherwise impeccable uniform trousers.

Straining his eyes, Sherlock could focus on the gun well enough to discern that the safety was off. He was very close to coming now.


	5. John's birthday/remote control

_[captainwithlipstick](http://captainwithlipstick.tumblr.com) asked for "John's birthday." [schnattergans](http://schnattergans.tumblr.com) asked for "remote control." Here's another double-fill._

 

 

The device that Sherlock placed in John’s hands was a gray rectangular box, twice as long as it was wide. It bore two dials and several buttons, all of which had simple one- or two-word phrases to indicate the things that they modulated. “Happy birthday, John,” Sherlock said mildly.

Before actually reading the commands, John’s first reaction was to ask, “Is this a remote control for a vibrator which is currently located in your arse?”

Sherlock glowered. “Don’t be stupid, John. I know I can be inconsiderate sometimes, but I wouldn’t give you the same present two years in a row. No, this remote control…is for me.”

At this point, John examined the controls more closely. They seemed designed to adjust moods and inclinations. The dial with the most obvious use was labeled “Volume.”

“Does this one do what I think it does?”

“Try it out,” Sherlock said.

John pinched the dial and turned it slowly to the left, saying, “So tell me about how you solved the case of the Stigmata in the Statuary.”

“You can always depend on a physicist to point out the errors in a science fiction film, so I simply…”

As John turned the dial, Sherlock’s voice became quieter, until it was not discernible at all, though his mouth continued to move.

This was interesting, but it occurred to John that this might be a trick on Sherlock’s part. “Go in the other room,” he said. “So you can’t see what I’m doing. And then start talking again.”

Sherlock obeyed, sauntering into the kitchen, all the while continuing to tell the story: “When the monster was decapitated, the man spent three and a half minutes explaining why the toxic substance that was an integral part of the monster’s…”

Once again, as John turned the dial back and forth, Sherlock’s voice became louder, or softer.

And the volume was only the first, the simplest, of the controls. John could press any of the buttons, twist any of the dials, sometimes two or more in tandem, to bend Sherlock to his will. He could put Sherlock to sleep before he retired to bed himself; no more being woken up in the middle of the night because of a body they’d just found in Limehouse. No more boredom-fueled destruction. Just a quiet, pliant, libidinous Sherlock, if that was all he desired.

John turned the remote control over and over in his hands thoughtfully, and said, “But why would you trust me with something like this?”

Sherlock smiled, and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket to pull out an identical device. “Because I also made myself one,” he said, “for you.”


	6. public spanking

_[bellatrixana](http://bellatrixana.tumblr.com) asked for "public spanking."_

 

 

Sherlock had been petulant all day, which had not struck John as out of the ordinary; but the particularly rude comment he’d directed towards Molly made John consider that perhaps this was Sherlock initiating that thing they’d talked about, that Sherlock had asked for John’s “help” with.

Well, if this was Sherlock’s signal, if he really wanted this to happen in front of Molly, John would honor his wishes. He made a grab for Sherlock, spun him round so they faced each other, and swiftly undid Sherlock’s trousers, tugging to expose his pale, round behind. He held Sherlock’s ear, to force him in the right direction, and sat down, bringing Sherlock with him so he was over John’s knees. He wasted no time; the first hard smack landed squarely on the crest of one buttock, echoing off the ceiling tiles.

Blow after blow made Sherlock’s bum jiggle and turn bright red. Molly, and several passers-by, looked on in silent horror as Sherlock grunted with each hard strike.

Once ten solid smacks had fallen on that plump bottom, Sherlock wriggled off John’s knee. John raised both arms and let Sherlock stand. As Sherlock did up his trousers, he said, “That was a noble effort, but you misheard. What I’d asked was for you to help me get over my fear of public _speaking_.”


	7. on holiday

_[rogue-panda](http://rogue-panda.tumblr.com/) asked for "on holiday." _[rioinred](http://rioinred.tumblr.com/) requested also requested Thor & Loki "wearing dresses."  _ I combined these two into a double-fill. Hope no one minds._

 

After a mere twenty steps, Sherlock was already tired of walking. “Isn’t there a shuttle or something?”

“No, there’s no shuttle,” John snapped. “And there shouldn’t be. You can’t go to Asgard and not walk the Rainbow Bridge. That’s like…like…”

Sherlock finished his sentence. “Like going to Saint Paul, Minnesota and not seeing the Museum of Questionable Medical Devices?”

“Why not.” John looked ahead, to the majestic, sparkling spires of the City of Asgard. But much closer in his field of vision, two figures were approaching. They were in full stride, still indistinct, but John could discern their regal capes being rustled by the gentle breeze.

But as the figures drew closer, John discovered that the flowing fabrics were not capes at all, but long skirts. He picked up his pace. He wanted to get closer more quickly. At last he could see the two figures clearly: a brawny, bearded blond man in a red gown, and beside him, a slender, dark-haired man in an elegant green gown. The blond wore a bemused expression, while the one in the green dress seemed subtly pleased with himself.

As these two pairs met, they stopped to examine each other. “Midgardians,” said the man in the red gown, then boomed, “Welcome to Asgard, my friends!”

Sherlock regarded him carefully. “You’re leaving to get your hammer back,” he said at last.

The two Asgardians seemed taken aback. Sherlock proceeded to explain: “You are the mighty Thor. Obvious. But you’re not carrying your hammer. You’re on your way to another realm, accompanied by your brother, Loki. Your ridiculous getup and the smug look on Loki’s face suggest the dresses were his idea. If something’s gone wrong in a silly way, it is statistically most likely that Loki is the cause of the trouble, and when it’s Loki’s fault, Loki has to fix it. Since you don’t have your hammer, it only makes sense to conclude that Loki divested you of it and gave it to someone else. Now you must get it back from this person or entity, and Loki has convinced you that the most effective way to do this is to dress up in women’s clothing and carry out a seduction.”

Thor and Loki looked at Sherlock, then at each other, then back at Sherlock. “You are very observant, Midgardian,” Thor said.

“Also,” said Sherlock, “Loki is a frost giant.”

Loki’s jaw dropped. “I’m a _what?_ ”

Without bothering to say goodbye, Sherlock proceeded down the Rainbow Bridge toward the city. John jogged to catch up. “This is truly the most boring and predictable of the Nine Worlds,” Sherlock said to him. “Next time, let’s holiday in Hel.”


End file.
